not titled yet
by ImGonnaFindMyPurpose
Summary: So that is how I, Rachel Berry, find myself sat in my bedroom, doors locked, tears down my cheeks that are running the hundred metres, with some form of blade in my hand.


Rachel Berry. What probably comes to mind when you hear that name is annoying short girl with voice, Barbra style nose and terrible dress sense. The talent destined to be on Broadway. The girl who wears a smile even when she has had a slushy thrown at her. The girl who is at the bottom of the social food chain. That loud obnoxious diva who can't let others have the attention. You probably wouldn't think you would find her crying and in this state in a toilet cubical at school. You probably wouldn't expect her to not be able to cope much more. You didn't expect her acting abilities to have to be used to fool the whole school; to stop them discovering of the black dog that plagues her life, belittling and ruining everything she does. You don't think of Rachel Berry as the girl who is _that_ close to taking her own life; the girl whose noose that was tied by everyone she knows, that tightens frequently...That noose that is round her neck waiting for her to snap and end it all.

Everyone else around me are all so happy. Kurt has his boyfriend, Blaine, who makes him very happy. So happy that the insults he gets don't hurt him. He can ignore them because he knows that they are wrong and he can be happy with Blaine. I wish I had someone who I loved so much that people's insults just bounced off me, away. It seems like I don't care but I do. It…it hurts. Tina is happy with Mike and they don't take the insults like I do. Finn is too …too stupid to notice my sadness and he doesn't have to wash slushy out of his hair multiple times a day. Quinn is…well, Quinn _seems_ happy enough… but life does like to try her, doesn't it! Oh, and Brittany and Santana are happy, together. People are cruel but they also remember what Santana can do to them. They don't want her to go all _"Lima Heights on their ass" _or something like that. So…if everyone else is happy, in their own little ways, why can't I be too? I _should_ be happy. I possess golden talent; my fathers love me dearly, despite my faults…and… I cannot find any reasons to be happy… Has it really got this bad that I cannot be happy at all? Well…yes it has…my life is that bad… But**why?** **Why **_**me? What did I do to deserve this hell hole of a life?**_

In glee I sit, façade unbreakable, at the front row. Well…the façade _was_ unbreakable…now there are cracks all over, but still no one notices. No one notices my problems, my positive-ness (more like lack of) that plunged into the deep dark depths of depression. They only see what they want to see. They only see the old me, not the **me** who is struggling, alone. I go home, my façade shatters, useless. I will rebuild it for my next show: i.e. next time I need to be around someone. For now I just need to wallow in my self pity and find a way for it to go away, somewhat.

So that is how I, Rachel Berry, find myself sat in my bedroom, doors locked, tears down my cheeks that are running the hundred metres, with some form of blade in my hand.

I think of the pain of my every day life. I think of Finn and how he has failed me so. I think of all the people in glee, who though would never admit it (but they probably would, come to think of it) that they would all be so much happier without me. More tears burn down my cheeks as I lift the blade above my wrists and falter. I remind myself that I don't hurt myself in places were people will see… it will get worse if I do… so that takes wrists and legs off the places… I mentally scan my brains in attempts to find that suitable place. At the moment I could just end it… but I'm not going to…yet… my tether isn't that far gone, my noose not tight enough nor my blade sharp enough…

My hand shakes as I hold the shiny metal blade and I examine the sharpness of it. In a swift motion suddenly the blade is bloodied slightly as my skin seeps blood. The pain doesn't really hit me, it just hides some of my every day pain. I admire the crimson liquid as it stumbles from the small gash and builds up and spills. I smile, weakly, as I watch it rush like teardrops down my skin. Like _my_ teardrops. I drag the blade across my skin, viciously, in a desperate attempt to draw more and more blood. My sad smile widens slightly as I observe the scarlet rain from my skin. I am content watching the flow of blood.

Suddenly my senses come back to me. I am overwhelmed with too much guilt. How could I do this? Why did it have to come to this? My tears spill, mimicking the blood that flows similarly to them. Why did it always, at the end of the day, come to this? I watch the blood that stained my already heavily scarred skin and I cry more. This only makes me feel more pathetic. But why then, do I do it?

…Because it helps me…

…Because I cannot help myself…

…Because no one can help me…

**TBC**

**an/ i do not own glee... Im sorta glad i don't, i mean, look at how much trash what I write is. anyway... **

**Me: I will write more! I swear! i will finish this story!  
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**Santana: dont bet on it, she is unreliable and couldn't finish a story for the life of her!**

**me: hey! jsut because its true shouldnt mean you can say it!...meaney... :/  
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